Archive of Our Own ^beta

A faint clap of thunder,

Clouded skies,

Perhaps rain will come,

If so, will you stay here with me?

—Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,513

There is a stranger among the flowerbeds, standing outside in the rain. His hair is wet, his beautiful kimono is ruined, a lost, melancholic air about him. The kind that reeks of a long life seeped in loneliness.

The storm grows stronger, still the stranger does not move.

He does not know why he needs to wait here, only that he does.

☂

“Why can’t I play outside, Halmeoni?” Jaemin asks with a pout. His knees all scraped and covered with band-aids from playing the garden with the house keeper’s sons. Rain pours steadily. Each droplet hitting the screen door mercilessly in a cacophony of increasing intensity interspersed with claps of thunder and lightning streaking across the sky.

Halmeoni merely stares at him sternly, a frown on her thin lips and tells him to sit up straight. Jaemin groans but obeys; placing his weight on one foot as he adjusts the tie of his obi. He’s never been quite a fan of wearing traditional clothing. They were always like a box of chocolates to him, sometimes they were smooth and soft, other times they were stifling and itchy. It was also hard for him to move around in, and for a nine-year old boy, that’s the worst kind of punishment. He does however enjoy tracing the pretty sunflowers and kites lovingly hand-stitched into the fabric. Beside him, Halmeoni continues to set aside their daily offerings of rice, and beautifully dyed indigo fabric. Her hands stained the same color.

“Stop fidgeting, Nana. We are waiting for an important guest.”

Jaemin looks up to her wizened old face, littered with wrinkles and reminded him of their beautiful plum tree in the garden. Halmeoni’s even got her red lipstick on, and Harabeoji has always said that she only wears them for important days. “Who are we waiting for?”

“You’ll see.”

“What if the person doesn’t arrive?”

Halmeoni smiles then. The kind of quiet upturn of the lips that tells him she is holding onto a secret. She’s always been very good at keeping them. It’s why he always wants to know them. “He will come.”

“So, it’s a boy?”

Halmeoni hums. A trot song plays in the background.

Jaemin continues to wait.

☂

The stranger arrives in the middle of the afternoon.

Halmeoni had gone to the kitchen to fetch him some snacks after he’d pestered her about how hungry he was with all the waiting he did. Jaemin sees him among the flowers with his back turned away from him. Soaked and standing amongst the hydrangeas.

His skin, pale against the lavish indigo-blue kimono he is wearing—decorated with beautiful flowers at the hems and a streaming river moving across the bodice. His hair as dark as the night sky. The stranger is crouching amongst the flowers. Barefoot, the mud slowly staining the hems of his robe a dirty brown.

What a waste.

From the side, Jaemin takes a red umbrella and slips into his outdoor slippers. Careful not to get his own kimono wet. He holds out the umbrella in front of him, a small, practiced smile in his face. Halmeoni always said it is his best feature.

“Mister, don’t you want to come inside?”

Carefully, the stranger turns towards him. Jaemin’s breath caught in his throat. Fire burning in his chest as he rakes his eyes across the older man’s face. It’s youthful, with a strong nose and a gentle mole at the corner of his cheekbone and underneath his eye. A forlorn expression on his face. His heart hurts, only he doesn’t know why.

“You must be freezing,” Jaemin whispers as he reaches a small hand to brush against the stranger’s forehead. Cold as death. “You better come inside or you’ll catch a cold.”

The stranger sits straighter. An embarrassed expression on his face. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “Halmeoni would beat me with her cane if I told her that I left a guest freezing outside.”

Still the stranger seems unconvinced. Jaemin puffs his chest out and perseveres. “I’ll draw you a bath myself! You’re lucky you know? Not anyone can say that they’ve been drawn a bath by the A-me Bath House’s first son! I’ll even give you some ooki, on the house!”

This time, the stranger smiles and it’s beautiful.  His eyes curving inwards into half-moons and he’s the loveliest thing he’s ever set his eyes on. It takes his breath away. Like his heart is crushing itself inside and more than anything in his life, inexplicably, Jaemin does not wish for this person to leave.

“I can’t say no to that. The baths here have always been my favorite.”

“When you’ve finished, I’ll get you some tteokbokki too.”

“Will you make it yourself?”

“Only if you’re very good.”

The stranger takes the umbrella from his small hands and stands up. Towering over him like a mountain. Jaemin slides the door shut behind them, and gestures for the stranger to follow him. The young boy leaving wet, muddy footprints on the hardwood floor.

If he had looked back, he would have seen that the stranger had left nothing behind, except for a trail of water.

☂

The stranger is soaking in their indoor bath. The nice one Halmeoni tells him is only for special guests. Large and extravagant, its colorfully tiled floors were carefully painted to depict the grace of a dragon and the serene calm of a lake. Art emulating life, just as how their small, picturesque town has been designed to be generations and generations down the line.

Jaemin sneaks a small glance against the stranger’s well-muscled back, his skin pale like milk against the purple water. The stranger looks back, a small smile on his lips. Jaemin looks away, embarrassed, retreating behind the screen. If he had to wait in the doorway for an hour, then this stranger must be very special, indeed. The smell of lavender scented medicinal water wafting in the air. The rain continues its deluge outside, but here in this suite it is not so distracting.

Jaemin sets aside a nice change of clothes for him. Indigo, of course. It seemed like it was the man’s favorite color. Just like the color of the rain. It suited him. “How’s the water?” Jaemin asks through the screen door. The silhouette moves.

“Thank you,” the stranger says. Satisfaction in his tone. “I’m very happy.”

“When you’re finished, I’ve left some clothes for you to wear, I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Thank you, Jaemin.”

With a nod, Jaemin closes the sliding door shut. He’s walking to the kitchens when he realizes that he never told the stranger his name.

☂

They’re hanging out now in an empty room facing an indoor garden.

The stranger having started to pluck the strings of a nearby guitar. The melody is slow, careful and oddly reminiscent of downpour. Jaemin listens in comfortable silence, lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air as he plays video games on his Nintendo. When the music stops, Jaemin turns his gaze upward. A forlorn look upon the stranger’s face.

Jaemin stands to collect the tteokbokki and offers a piece to him. The stranger smiles, and accepts. Chewing quietly, a happy expression on his face.

“Why are you so sad, mister?”

“I’m not sad, little one.”

“Are you lonely then?”

The stranger nods before opening his mouth wide for Jaemin to deposit yet another rice cake in his waiting mouth. He had made it himself in the kitchen. The stranger had been appreciative and begun to smile more. It was made from the bottom of his heart after all.

“Why are you lonely?” Jaemin asks him.

“I’ve lost someone very dear to me and I don’t know if he will ever return.”

“Your father?”

The stranger shakes his head again. “No, it was not.”

Jaemin scoots in closer, as if to whisper a secret. The stranger leans in as well, eager to catch the question. “Is it your lover?”

The stranger recoils, his shock evident in his face. “Are nine-year-olds supposed to know such things?”

“Well I know and by your face I know I’m right.”

The man fixes the folds of his kimono more evenly. The fabric of his obi rustling down to the ground in a lovely waterfall. “He was and he wasn’t but I loved him anyways and so I wait.”

“Will he ever come back to you?” Jaemin asks. His heart breaking at the sad news.

The stranger leans in closer, a curious look twinkling in the corner of his eyes. Like a magnet, Jaemin gravitates towards him, transfixed. “They say a child’s promise hold’s much power, so why don’t you tell me. Do you think he would?”

“I think, that whether he does or not, you will always have a place here in my family’s bath house.”

The strange smiles again, mysterious as he lays a gentle hand on Jaemin’s hair, arranging it gently. “I’m thankful to you, Jaemin. You remind me so much of him.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m more handsome.” Jaemin falters. Embarrassment staining apples of his cheeks red. “Or at least I will be. You’ll just have to wait a few more years.”

The stranger laughs now. Child-like even. Jaemin finds he rather likes the sound. A twinkle of a wind chime, the steady pitter patter of rain against the surface of the lake. The rustle of a bubbling stream. “I’m quite sure, I’m too old for you.” The stranger booping Jaemin’s nose playfully. It scrunches. “I’m quite ancient.”

“Age is just a number.” Jaemin recites respectfully. “At least that’s what my Halmeoni always says.”

“Jihyo has always lived by those words, even when she was young.”

“You know my grandmother?” Jaemin asks. It must be why the stranger knows his name.

“Once upon a time,” the stranger says with an eye-smile. His long lashes fanning against skin.

The rain is quieter now, nearly over. Jaemin stands up to look at the sky. If he waits hard enough, he knows the sun will peek through the clouds soon enough. “Mister, I think the rain’s almost over!”

“Then I guess, it’s time for me to leave then.” The stranger says as he sets down his empty teacup. A sad smile on his face.

“Why? The sun is almost out! We can play outside!” Jaemin exclaims excitedly, taking the strangers large hands in his. “I know a lot of amazing games we can do in the garden! Don’t go!”

“I don’t think I should overstay my welcome, Jaemin. Your grandmother will be looking for you.”

“Then, when are you coming back? I don’t even know your name Mister!”

“Names have power, Jaemin. Are you sure you want to have power over me?” The stranger asks seriously. A storm brewing in his eyes. His face still, reminiscent of an undisturbed lake. Carefully, Jaemin nods. His heart beating wildly in his chest. “I would like to know the name of a friend, so when you come back here again, I can call you by it.”

Jeno sits up straighter, his slouch disappearing; in its ashes, lay a stature so regal it befitted a king. The sky darkens in one last merciless downpour. Ozone in the air. Jaemin sits up straighter too. He doesn’t understand why, but it seemed important to do so.

With a voice as deep as the rumble of thunder, Jeno speaks, “If you so desire, then call out the name that speaks from your heart and I shall answer to it all the days of your life.”

Jaemin searches within himself. Sifting through the names of things that he knows. The things that he finds dear to him. The memory of a river in an old bedtime story Halmeoni once told him before years ago.

“Then, I’ll call you Jeno.”

The stranger’s face lights up. Wonder in his eyes as lightning dances in the sky. The wind howling against the trees. A clap of thunder sealing a promise. A brilliant smile on his face.

Jeno is beautiful, Jaemin thinks. The kind of beautiful that is kept in a place for oneself, away from prying eyes and self-doubt. How he wishes to be here again to welcome him from the cold.

“A true name, from one so young,” Jeno murmurs as he links his pinky with the younger boy. “I shall hold you to it as I shall hold mine.”

Jaemin smiles as he envelops the stranger in a hug. The very kind he’s been holding himself back on giving since earlier. “You are always welcome here, Jeno. This can be your home too.”

Jeno returns his embrace. A stray tear falling helplessly on the mat floor. “I’m home.”

Jeno leaves not long after that, slipping into his old clothes, now dry and walks out into the rain. The red umbrella Jaemin has given him hangs over his head, keeping him dry. Jaemin waving goodbye.

Later, as he’s on his knees apologizing to Halmeoni for forgetting to collect payment she will laugh as she lifts his head. A secretive smile on her face. “Oh, Jaemin but he’s already paid.”

Annoyed, Jaemin will reply petulantly, “I don’t see any money in my hand now do I?”

Halmeoni merely smiles and points to the sky. The dark clouds have all but disappeared and in its wake is a dazzling rainbow.

☂

That evening, as Jaemin lies in his bed, Halmeoni will whisper the secret of their family’s good fortune. The light from the lamp flickering. Stories that soon, he too will know it by heart but for now, he nestles into his grandmother’s chest close, and watches her eyes gleam as if remembering a far-off tale, one of history that she weaves into words the same careful way she weaves thread together on land.

Once upon a time, there was a boy who needed to cross a river but the current was too strong. Where most men would force their way into the water, the young boy kneeled and called out to it.

“Friend!” he said. “Let me pass, for I need to visit my grandmother today.  Her bones have been aching and the cough has not left her side!”

The river god, pleased with the boy’s kindness and politeness cedes his waters to make a bridge of stones for him to hop over. Once at the other side, the boy thanks him and goes on his way.

 Upon his return, the boy carried with him a basket of irises to offer the young god as thanks. Planting them near his waterbed, for him to admire. Pleased, the river god cedes and makes him his stone bridge, once again. The young boy hopping over each step one-by-one.

“This bridge is one only you may cross, little one. For your kindness and good heart.”

The boy grew and grew until he has turned into a young man. Still he visited the river god and brought him gifts. A shell from the sea, fabric he has made with his own hands for the river god to wear. The river god thanked him for each one and provided him with clean water and ample amounts of fish to feed his family. Rain for his family’s crops when needed. The two of them trading stories at the end of the setting sun.

Until one day, the boy does not come.

The river god, having grown worried lifted himself into the sky to peer down at the earth below. From his lofty perch, he saw the boy surrounded by bandits. In his anger, he sent needles of water from the sky and cold fire to the trees below. Now, freed, the young boy ran to the river to escape. The bandits hot on his heels.

“River, please let me pass!”

Hastily, the river god makes for him a stone bridge to cross. “Run young one! Run fast! I shall not let them pass!”

The young man thanked him once again as he hopped past. The river god hiding the bridge from sight. But a bandit was sly, and had nocked an arrow on his bow, drawing it close to his ear. With the twang of the string, the arrow flew across the river and pierced the young man’s chest, killing him. His blood staining the flowerbed, an angry crimson.

In his anguish, the river god sent a wave of water so strong it split the mountain in two, killing the bandits and wrapping himself around his home. Finally coming into his power.

In the aftermath, the boy’s body washes up against the flower bed where the flowers had lain. His family coming to collect his body and wept. In the remaining light left behind by a setting sun, the river god promises to keep the boy’s family safe and protect them from harm’s way.

“And that is why Nana, my handsome little grandson, our family has been blessed. For it is the river god who has visited us in the rain,” Halmeoni’s voice whispers like the dying flame of candle, soon to be snuffed out.

“Does he only ever come when it rains?” Jaemin asks with a yawn. Tiredness seeping into his bones as he lays his head back onto the pillow. The sound of rain slowly trickling in, lulling him to slumber.

“Yes, but not always. He is needed elsewhere after all. But when he comes knocking at our bath house’s door, welcome him with a smile. Draw him a warm bath, make him a good meal and listen to him. For we have so many blessings to thank him for.” She whispers in his ear, papery thin like the weathered parchment Harabeoji keeps in his study.

When Jaemin sleeps that night, he dreams of a river.

He dreams of a river and a young boy sleeping next to a flowerbed of irises and a lost slipper that has yet to be returned.

☂

Jeno comes often during the rainy season.

Sometimes he is there every day. Staying over the bath house and playing indoor games with Jaemin. Jeno teaching him all the traditional dances and songs he knows. At night he tells the best stories. Ones that even Halmeoni doesn’t know about.

“I was the one who told her first, Nana.” Jeno whispers from underneath the quilt. “And now I share them to you. Remember them well, little one so that one day you may pass it on to others.” So that you may never forget me, is what Jaemin knows Jeno harkens to say but cannot express into words. They have always been quick to slip between his fingers.

“I’m not that little anymore, Jeno. I might have a terrible memory but I’ll never forget you.” Jaemin consoles the river god. Brushing his dark hair between his fingers before smooshing his cheeks. “You look like a fish!” Jaemin exclaims with a shout before falling back against the pillows.

Jaemin knows, Jeno hates to be forgotten. So, he won’t ever do so. How could he ever?

Other days they play outside.

Jumping from puddle to puddle, their clothes ruined in mud as Halmeoni and Harabeoji look on. Jeno would always wish them away later, pressing his palm against the fabric, tracing the stray specks away with a slender finger. Some days, Jaemin wishes he wouldn’t.  He rather likes having reminders that Jeno is an all-powerful river god and that Jeno is his best friend.

At nights when the storms are particularly bad, Jaemin has learned to pester Jeno more. There’s always thunder and lightning when he feels angry. The rain is harder when he is sad. The fog seeps in when he is lonely and wants to hide away.

These are the days, Jaemin sits in front of the sliding door facing the indoor garden and calls out to him. He’ll wear his best clothes and have an umbrella prepared. A warm bath at the ready. Resigned to a night inside as he tries to lift the mood of his gloomy protector.

Jeno always appears when he calls out to him. The river god says that it is part of what they have promised that fateful night, years ago. He tries not to use it too much. Harabeoji said that too much rain will make the farmers sad but too little would make Jeno upset. It’s been raining for a week straight now, and Jeno has not made his way to stay with him. He feels worried.

“Jeno, where are you?” Jaemin whispers to the wind. “I miss you! Come find me please!”

It takes a while but eventually, he arrives.

A shape forming from out of the fog, his hair sopping wet, his kimono ruined and once again he is barefooted. Jaemin takes his umbrella and shares it with him. A bright smile on his face. “Good Evening, Jeno. You’ve been feeling particularly upset this week, I take it.”

Jeno nods sullenly.

“Some tourist from the neighboring town threw trash in my river and so I’ve decided to spite their vacation.”

Jaemin nods in understanding, a comforting hand on the older male’s arm. Jeno moves closer to take the umbrella from the boy. His eyes widening in surprise. “Jaemin, you’ve gotten bigger.”

It irks him. “Really?You haven’t seen me since spring and that’s the first thing you say to me? Of course, I’ve grown I’m fourteen!”

Jeno smiles sheepishly. “Time runs fast when you’re as old as I am.”

“Well, make it go slower, because I don’t want you to miss me too soon.”

Jeno peers down at the boy, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve missed you, Nana. May I come inside?”

His heart brims with excitement. He hopes It isn’t too obvious as he moves to usher his guest inside. “I’ve got a hot bath for you. Why don’t you get yourself warmed up?”

Hand in hand, pinkies linked together they head inside.

☂

There’s been a burst of industrialization recently In Sonagi Town.

Jaemin is unsure about how he feels about it. He rather likes how everything is here in the countryside. The air is clean and the townspeople, kind. The tourists who visit their bath house are all lovely and respectful. Jaemin’s made each of them doubly aware of how they should dispose of their trash properly so as not to incite Jeno’s ire again.

He’s sixteen now. A high school student at the local school. Finally growing into his latest growth spurt and long limbs. Jeno still cackles every time his voice breaks, which is often, but he finds he rather likes it. Enjoys the way the river god’s eyes crinkle into crescents as a cold wind rushed past them.

He’s also sixteen when he falls in love too for the first time. A summer fling with a girl from the city and is staying with her family at the bath house for about a month. A summertime dalliance in between chores and part-time jobs and running away from his grandfather’s attempts to teach him to dye fabric. He’d rather not have his fingers turning blue.

He receives his first kiss underneath the mango tree by the river. It’s wet, and warm and it feels good to have another person’s skin against his skin and their lips against his and yet, the sinking feeling in his gut is not filled. It only grows wider and more apparent that something inside him, is absent.

That evening, a summer storm brew. Quick, fast and dangerous. The maids all rushing outside to bring the fabric in, hanging them from the rafters of the bath house’s store room.

When he calls Jeno to tell him about her, Jeno doesn’t come. It doesn’t worry him too much. Jeno is busy after all but the rain continues on to the next day, and still Jeno does not heed his call. Worry gnawing at him from the pool of dread already forming in his gut. Gathering a basketful of offerings and wrapping himself in his nicest kimono, he slips into his rainboots, preparing to walk over to Jeno’s river. Halmeoni makes him bring fresh irises too. A stern look, on her face. “Did you two have a fight?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t do anything!” Jaemin defends. the coal inside his stomach burns at his lie. He can think of one reason, after all. Halmeoni doesn’t comment on it except whack him in the butt with her cane. Strong as ever, even though she’s pushing sixty-five.

“If I know anything in this life, Nana. Begging for forgiveness works a lot. Pride won’t help you here.” Harabeoji calls out to him from the study. A newspaper in hand, his half-moon spectacles peering over the Sonagi Times. “Jeno has always been good to you. Listen to him, please.”

With a sigh, Jaemin agrees and heads out to the river.

It’s an hour’s trek to Jeno’s river in all this rain. The thunder roaring from a distance. The fog settling in quick. He’s not worried. Jeno may get upset at times but he would never endanger him. Too much, at least.

He arrives at the riverbank and crouches down. Dipping his hand in the freezing, rushing water. The current almost strong enough to wash him away if he didn’t plant his feet down carefully. “Jeno, please come out. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Jeno peeks through the river, a hurt expression on his face.

“Go away, Nana. I don’t want you here,” He says spitefully before sinking under the surface.

“Don’t be like that! Let’s talk about this please.” Jaemin pleads. “I got you some flowers? I made you some omelet rice! The one with soy sauce you like so much.”

Jeno peeks outside again, half-heartedly inching towards the riverbank. Slow like molasses. Slow, like a scorned lover. Jaemin waits. Offering them to him quietly. Jeno eats it quickly, a muted expression on his face.

The rain trickling down into a small drizzle.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for but I’m sorry.”

“I know what you did with your friend by the mango tree.”

Jaemin remains silent, unsure of where this conversation would lead. Unsure about why he brought her there in the first place. His emotions swirling together in a mix of something he does not even have a name for.

Jeno looks at him. A sad smile on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Isn’t it my fault anyways? I won’t bring her near your river anymore,” he mutters under his breath but bumps his best friend’s shoulder anyways. “So, don’t be angry with me. I can’t bear it.”

“I was jealous.”

Jaemin turns to look at him, surprised. “Why? Because I got a girlfriend?”

Jeno nods. Hiding his face in his arms. “I don’t own you and you don’t owe me anything but I still felt jealous. You can meet her in the rain and in the sun. While I, I can only meet you when the weather is bad and no one in the right mind would want to go outside. I would like to meet you in the sun, too but that’s impossible.”

“Is that the only reason you were jealous?” Jaemin asks. Slowly gravitating to his best friend’s open expression of sadness. A warm, aching pain inside his chest that refuses to go away. They are silent for a long time.

Jeno never answers.

Jaemin doesn’t push.

☂

Jaemin is sixteen when he gets his heart broken for the first time.

It isn’t with his summer girlfriend, who is going back to the city. That was a mutual understanding between them. They harbored no illusions about who they were in each other’s life. Jaemin even seeing her off with a small, cheery wave, wishing each other well.  

No, he gets his heart broken on a rainy summer night.

The windows are closed with Jeno curled up next to him, gazing at the rain falling from the rafters. Petrichor in the air. It’s the eve of his second year of high school and Jaemin has realized the pain of an unrequited attraction to the closest friend he’s ever had.

That with every brush of their fingers or nights spent inside playing card games or sharing secrets with each other, he continues to fall even deeper into the fantasy of one day being able to hold the spirit’s hand or press a kiss on his lips but those things are illusions. What is a mortal to a god? When one can live on for eternity while his frail body can only hold a couple of decades at best, how is he to offer anything of himself that would bear as much weight? Jaemin can no more catch a moonbeam in his hand than win the illustrious heart of a river god. Especially not when he is in love with someone else.

 “Why do you always wear the same kimono even after I’ve lent you new ones?” Jaemin asks him as Jeno ties his obi shut. The irises on the hems of his sleeves are beautiful, even though they have already begun to fray at the edges.

“Because he made it for me. He made it for me and I wore it the same day he gave it and the same day, I saw him leave. It is all I have left of him. I wear it, so I do not forget my promise.”

Jaemin is sixteen when he learns what it takes for a heart to break like glass. Pained with the knowledge that while Jeno enjoys his company, it Isn’t the same thing he feels. It Isn’t the tell-tale burn of longing that spreads across his body like wildfire when they touch or the hot coals in his stomach when Jeno wraps him in a warm embrace. It isn’t the fever dreams that haunt him at night. The ones where he dreams of rain and a warm body pressed against his, pinning the older man against the soft bed or long fingers twisting into his hair as dark as midnight. Hands trailing along hard, sinewy muscles of a back used to movement.

Jeno belonged to a world of adults and mythical monsters; of gods and demons and well—Jaemin is just a boy, still growing into his body that is as much a stranger to him. Still wet behind the ears. Still, very much human. Still, very much in love.

Jaemin reaches out a hand to cup the river god’s cheek. The moonlight cascading over them illuminating one side, and shrouding the other in darkness. A curious expression in the river god’s face. His longing thick enough that one could feel it pressing into the air between them. 

“If I give you something I made with my hands, would you wear it?” Jaemin asks him quietly, as they nestle underneath the thick comforter. Would you wear it and think of me instead?He does not say aloud.

Jeno settles in closer, letting Jaemin’s warmth run through his ghostly skin. “I would wear it proudly. Every day, until it is old and rotting and barely resembles its original color. I would wear it until its death,” he promises with a solemn expression.

“Then, I’ll make you a new one when it happens,” Jaemin promises.

The next day, Jaemin learns to stain his hands blue, like his grandmother and grandfather before him. Like his ancestors did before him. Twisting and roping and dyeing fabric in patterns and shapes. It’s hard, brutal work but that year he learns to stitch and weave and craft and create something from nothing. He’s seventeen when he learns to give back to the water that has sustained him all his life. If only to be deemed worthy of all its sacrifice.

☂

On a cold autumn day, Jaemin walks up to the river with his offerings, freshly cut irises at the side of his basket. A package tied together with twine tucked neatly in between.

“Open it,” he says after they’ve broken bread. Jeno obeys as he unfurls the brown paper to reveal a beautiful kimono in his hands. A smile so brilliant erupts from his lips, it could have split the heavens. “Did you make this for me?” He asks reverently, gently carding his fingers through the dyed fabric.

It is a river, littered with irises and the rain falling down to the hem to sink into the water. In the distance is the bath house, old and majestic, a boy with a red umbrella and a river god surreptitiously meeting in a garden filled with purple hydrangeas. It had taken ages for him to get it right. he labored on the detailing for months. His hands aching and his fingertips sore from every needlepoint he’s accidentally stabbed into it.

“Do you like it?”

Jeno answers him with a warm embrace. Jaemin returns it back just as eagerly. Afraid that if he lets go for even just a second, the god would fade away into smoke and leave him here, alone. A great rush of happiness filling his chest, knowing that Jeno adores it so much.

“I love it. Thank you, Na Jaemin. Few have given me a gift worthy of a god and you have made one from your own two hands.”

Before his very eyes, Jeno sheds his old, worn kimono and slips into the new one. Jaemin turns away, before he’s tempted by smooth flesh and the expanse of Jeno’s broad back. When he glances back, he sees that it fits him perfectly, just as Jaemin had imagined it to be.

“I’ve decided to give you a gift as well,” Jeno says with a bright smile, a hand outstretched in front of him. Carefully, Jaemin places his hand in his, threading their fingers tightly as he follows him into the water.

Only he doesn’t sink, he floats.

“I’m standing on water,” Jaemin gasps out. He looks into his best friend’s eyes but all he finds is mirth and a mischievous expression. Jeno leans in to whisper in his ear, breath cool against his skin. He shivers, feeling both warm and light-headed in the god’s presence.

 “Now, you must run or else you will sink.” Jeno lets go of his hands. Already, Jaemin’s feet have begun to slowly sink in the river. “Come and catch me, Nana!” the river god shouts as he escapes into the forest. His feet gliding on the surface of the water as if it were as thick as ice. With an excited laugh, Jaemin runs after him. Clumsily at first, but finds his footing later. Weaving through the rocks, the bubbling brooks and fish jumping out from surprise; Jaemin runs, runs with a reckless abandon, runs with the childish naivety of a boy slowly growing into adulthood chasing after a dream.

They chase each other through the trees, following the river’s trail until they reach a hidden grove deep inside the heart of the forest. Red leaves floating on water so clear, it mirrored the sky. In the middle Jeno stands still, in all his god-like glory. Soaked just as Jaemin is, rain slowly trickling down from the sky in small droplets, waves rippling across the surface.

A strong breeze rushes through the trees, Jaemin covering his face with his arm but remains steady on the water’s surface.

“It is rare for a human to impress a god and yet you’ve made me happier than all the centuries I’ve lived and breathed in this land.” Jeno murmurs in his soft voice but in the silence of this grove, his voice carries. “Ask me any gift and I shall see if it is within my power to grant it.”

Carefully, Jaemin moves closer, his heart hammering inside his chest as he stands before him. A meager human playing with things that he has no right to and yet, Jaemin dreams. He dreams in silk and fabric, in thread and the smell of herbs that wash over his thoughts like a giant wave, like a downpour of rain of a love so strong that it threatens to consume him flesh and soul from the inside out. His heart calling out to this boy wrapped in blue and silk with the kindest smile he’s ever felt in his life. “All I ask for your heart, o great river god. So that I may care for it, all the days that I am alive.”

Na Jaemin is eighteen years old when his love is returned.

Not to the sound of thunder drumming in the sky but to sound of the rain falling in the middle of a cloudy day. Jeno wearing his love on his body as Jaemin presses his lips against his. A silent prayer, an act of worship, a final act of surrender in a formless future he cannot yet see. The rain scalding against his skin. Jeno does not pull away when he cards his hands through the god’s ebony hair and peppers kisses on the long lashes that fan against his eyelids. The river god pressing back at him just as sweetly, his beautiful hands framing against his jaw, cradling his very heart. When Jeno pulls him underneath the water, he does not resist. Letting himself sink, knowing that Jeno would never harm him.

Safe with the knowledge that Jaemin would drown in this moment forever as long as Jeno would let him. Jeno smiles before he presses his lips against his again, starved and wanting, Jaemin giving back just as eagerly. Two bodies twisting and moving in the fading sunlight streaming through the water as they share the first of many underwater kisses.

☂

It’s the winter of his seventeenth year, and his heart is warm despite the steady snowfall falling from the sky.

He’s been studying hard for his entrance exams. Burning the midnight oil as he toils over numbers and books and practice exams in the hope of getting into at least one respectable university. Jaemin’s never been a very good student but he does try his best. Rubbing the sleep settling in his eyes, he looks behind him.

Jeno is asleep in his bed, tucked in tightly under several blankets. The heated flooring turned on high, so as to keep the river god warm. In the winters, Jeno sleeps underneath his river but this year he chooses to spend it with Jaemin, and for that he is thankful. He’s always been thankful for the spirit that has continued to bless his family, one who is so selfless that he would humor the wish of a foolish child like him.

Gently he slips underneath the blankets to join him, breath warm and fingers cold as Jeno continues to sleep, dead to the world. Jaemin giving him a small peck on the lips, Jeno stirring an arm reaching out to wrap him in an embrace.

“Jaemin,” Jeno’s voice barely above a whisper.

“Sleep, for I shall be with you and keep you warm against the cold night.”

“Jaemin,” whispers again, softly this time, like a wish, like a prayer.

They slumber together, two figures wrapped so closely, it would be a travesty to separate them from each other.

☂

In the spring of his eighteenth year Jaemin receives two letters.

One is a scholarship and letter of acceptance to one of the country’s most prestigious art universities with a major in Textiles. Everyone at the bath house is overjoyed and rightly so, for it isn’t an easy feat for a boy from the countryside to earn a place there but Jaemin thinks he’s worked hard these past two years, the blue staining his hands a testament to his promise.

The other is a letter from his parents, who are asking him to move back with them in the city when university begins. That, is met with a wry look from both of his grandparents. He’s been estranged from them since he was a child while they were off living their lives in the city, coming back only during holidays, vacations and Christmases.

He tells as much to Jeno who sits listening to him, eating tteokbokki Jaemin had cooked for both of them earlier. A solemn look on his face.

“I’ll meet with them, but I’d much rather room in the dorms the university will be providing you know? I want to try being independent for once.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great, Nana.” Jeno says soothingly. Jaemin turns to smile at him brightly before leaning in for a lingering kiss. It tastes a lot like barley tea and gochujang but Jaemin doesn’t mind these things.

“I’ll probably be busy in the weekdays but I’m sure that we can both make it work.” Jaemin laying down on the wooden flooring next to him, cradling the river god’s hands between his fingers, “You’ll come with me, right? We can share a bed and finally have some privacy without anyone peeping at us.”

Jeno remains silent throughout the exchange. A sad smile on his face.

“I don’t think I can come with you.”

Jaemin sits up, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“It means what I said. I am too old, too weak to come with you to the city.”

“Well, then you can visit me, at least once a week?”

Jeno remains silent.

“Once a month?” Jaemin reasons out, holding the river god’s hands in his. There’s an ashen, almost translucent quality to his skin, his face troubled, a tremulous smile on his face.

“Nana,” Jeno begins carefully. His fingers tightening in his hold. Too afraid that the man he loves would slip through his fingers. “Once, I made a bargain with a god, and through that god he granted me a wish. In payment, I can no longer leave my river very far and so I am trapped in this mountain taking care of its residents and ensuring that they are happy.”

“But it’s only once in a while? Can’t gods write to someone? Can’t you send me a message? I do not want to go there alone, without you.” Jaemin replies. I do not know how to live a life without you in it,he does not say.

“Once, I had the power, Nana but the old world is dying and there is not enough of those who believe in the old ways in this generation. Not enough wishes, not enough offerings and not enough prayers for me to do something so great a miracle as you ask.”

“Is my devotion not enough?” Jaemin says, his heart breaking apart inside his chest.

“It is enough to keep me alive, but not enough for me to grant the wish you desire.”

“Then I’ll come visit you, I’ll come visit you often. Once a month. I’ll come back here—”

Jeno places a calloused hand on top of Jaemin’s clenched fist. He’s shaking. He hates it. He hates that look of resignation from Jeno’s face. Hates his parents for making him leave. Hates how there is no higher education system this far out from the city he could go to study.

“I would be remiss, in my duty as your protector if I didn’t let you go. Was it not my magic that made sure you would have a good shot in entering that university?”

Silently, the rain pours. It starts off as a steady trickle but soon increasing in its intensity until it turns into a downpour. Each rain drop beating hard against the rooftops and the indoor fountain. The wind chimes rattling about.

Jaemin stares at his best friend, his great love, his god and weeps. The anger and the hurt bubbling out from inside him but the hopelessness grabs hold the most and pulls him under a deluge of negativity. In the realm of what-ifs and the anxiety of what is to come to them soon.

Jeno eyes remain dry, but the sky weeps enough for the both of them.

Two lovers, soon to be lost in the river of time and distance.

☂

Jaemin is eighteen when life as he knows it ends.

His bags are packed and boarded in the car, his parents having arrived to come pick him up and help him settle in his dorm at the university. It’s a dreary morning, the fog slowly settling around the town. The staff at the bath house have all wished him well and packed with him several gifts, his own grandparents having done the same.

They’ve given him a farewell party, with Jeno visiting and staying the night. Helping keep his bed warm in a silent vigil against the dawn. They said nothing and everything to each other, holding each other close as they waited out for small rays of light peeking in the horizon.

 Jeno leaves early that morning to give him time to pack away his things for university. He’d been putting it off for the longest time. He feels his absence even more. The sense of completion he feels when Jeno is near is so distant, he can barely feel it anymore. Jaemin had dressed himself, slowly that day. Shedding the traditional clothes, he’s grown to love because of him and slipping into some comfortable cotton sweatpants and a hoodie.

Shedding off the traces of his old life and slipping into a new, unfamiliar one.

“Stay strong,” Halmeoni whispers against his ears. Voice sure despite the papery thin quality it’s taken to forming in her old age. “He would not want you to despair.”

“We’ll take care of Jeno, do not worry,” Harabeoji promises. A dark, wrinkled blue hand cupping his face carefully. “Work hard and make us all proud. His blessings will follow you.”

“I will Halmeoni, Harabeoji. I’ll miss you both so much,” he says as he takes both of his grandparents into his arms, in one final embrace before he leaves.

The ride in the car is silent, save for the sound of the windshield wiper whirring as it wipes away stray droplets of rain against the windshield. His mom switches stations on the radio trying to find one without static. His parents had tried to engage him in small talk earlier but Jaemin isn’t very interested in the moment. Too busy staring outside at the sky, and the lightning hiding behind dark clouds that threaten to tear itself through the sky like an open wound.

Jaemin misses him.

Misses him like a lost limb, ripped from his body, and he’s only half of what he used to be, barely hanging on to the burned remains left on a carcass riding a car heading to bright neon lights and a city that never sleeps.

Faintly, he hears his name being called out.

He looks back, and sees Jeno running after them.

A look of anguish in his eyes as the rain starts to fall down against the roof relentlessly. A drumbeat of a heart, of bare feet hitting the gravel of a pavement.

“Jaemin-ah!” The river god shouts, trying to catch up to the car speeding down the winding mountain road. “Jaemin-ah, come back!”

Jaemin, rolls down the window, the rain entering the car, his parents shouting in distress.

“Jaemin! What are you doing?!”

“Jaemin, close the window! The rain is coming in!”

He ignores them, head peeking out of the window, arm outstretched. “Jeno! Jeno!”

Jeno runs faster, his hand gripping Nana’s tight. Tears streaming down both their faces. “Grab my hand!” Jaemin shouts as Jeno tries to keep with the car.

“Jaemin-ah, don’t forget me please. I couldn’t tell you last night because of the bargain but I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care if they punish me more. Please, if you love me don’t forget. Everyone forgets me when they leave the mountain but don’t forget me please—”

“I won’t forget you,” Jaemin replies back. “How could I ever forget you?”

“Jaemin-ah don’t forget, don’t forget!” Jeno reminds him, as his hands starts to slip away, his body fading into fog as Jaemin is pulled by his mother back inside the sedan, the car exiting the boundary of Sonagi Town and entering the highway.

Hidden in his sweater, Jaemin sees the burn of handprint coiled around his wrist, inside his hand is a large pearl.

Small, and beautiful with an otherworldly blue sheen.

All Jaemin can think of, is that it was born out of a god’s tears.

☂

In university, he’s known as that countryside kid, the bumpkin with a heavy accent and a smile made for retail. He’s grown into his shoulders and learns to hold his drink after several disastrous college mixers. He’s that guy, the one all the other girls at his university fawn over and try to get to hang out with them alone one night after class. The very one who turns them all down to spend time at the studio, dipping his hands inside indigo vats, the same color as his hands and strings them into patterns so beautiful everyone whose, ever seen a piece of his clothing falls in love.

“His family owns a traditional clothes shop”,they say while others gossip, “I heard that his family owns that famous A-me Bath House that the kings and queens used to visit because it makes you younger!”

Jaemin ignores these and focuses on the deep blues, inside his vat.

Wondering if he looks hard enough, he’ll see the face of the man who haunts his dreams, the handsome one, with the pretty eye-smile drenched often in the pouring rain. The one who utters his name so softly, filled with so much love, it wracks his body in so much pain that Jaemin feels loathe to wake up.

Cramped inside a train, the smell of naphthalene and deodorant invades his nose. The hems of his clothes are soaked and the feeling of a person’s weight pushed against his back is unwelcome.

“Ah, it’s been raining so often, I hate getting soaked!”says one passenger.

“It makes it harder for me to commute like this,”says another.

Jaemin ignores them. Allows the din of the rain to drown out their complaints as he watches the droplets wash away in the window in small streams going nowhere. He likes it. The rain.

He loves how the smell reminds him of what the sky might smell like, or freshy cut blades of grass in the morning. Jaemin still stops on the sidewalk when he sees a rainbow forming on a puddle only to be pushed forward by the maddening crowd.

The rain gives him peace. The rain gives him hope. The rain fills the empty void that no antidepressants or change in routine gives him. Only to the sound of rain can he sleep soundly. Only to the feeling of the rain hitting his bare skin, does he feel warm.

In the evenings before he sleeps, he kneels before his bed and lights a stick of incense offering his prayers to the sky. In the mornings, the moment he wakes up and wipes the dust of sleep from his eyes he searches the heavens for his answer. He’s been praying for rain for so long, he hopes it washes his worries away as it continues its deluge in the concrete jungle of the city. 

On rainy nights he dreams of a boy and a river.

The sunlight filtering through the water in a dazzling display of light, only to realize that he is underneath it. He dreams of a man, with a strong nose and a sad smile, standing in a garden soaked to the bone. His beautiful kimono ruined. He dreamt of this man every night it rained and when it didn’t his absence haunted him like a phantom limb. This stranger, represented the very secrets of the waking world, he could not uncover, was not privy to and it filled him with anger and sadness but above all loneliness. It filled him with the emptiness of wanting to stand and look for a way to fill the empty cup inside of him, a place to stand in the empty space the stranger leaves trailing after him.

Clutching his sweat-soaked sheets, Jaemin curls into himself. The hollowness inside his chest is crushing. Crumbling at his resolve when he tries to convince himself to get out of bed and head into class when all he wants to do is lie down and not wake up anymore. If only to chase after the remnants of a distant, far-off, half-remembered dream.

There are pearls he’s made into a bracelet, his favorite one in the middle, a pearl with a blue, otherworldly sheen. The beadwork he’d fashioned to look like the bouquet of irises he sees in his dreams, the gold linking, in the form of a river, a stark contrast against the angry red scar of a clasped hand on his wrist. Jaemin traces his fingers on it gently, the emptiness in his chest, lightening somehow.

He wonders what the stranger’s name is, and whether he would like to hear someone like him say his name aloud.

☂

Jaemin lounges at the College of Arts and Design building rooftop, a cigarette on his lips as he waits for his textiles to dry. There’s an unnatural amount of sun today. Sweat pooling against his forehead, his skin sticky as the humidity rises.

He hears the faint echo of a bell, the kind Halmeoni used to ring to tell everyone at the bath house it was time for the daily offering. Turning around, he sees a figure cloaked in white, beautiful red chrysanthemums dotting the outline of his kimono, sunflowers stitched at the hems from spun gold.

“So, you’re the human boy the river god is enamored with,” the strange figure drawls in a slightly nasal voice. Circling him with an almost predatory grace, “I thought you’d be more handsome.”

Annoyed, Jaemin bites back. “I don’t know who you are to be talking like that but I’m plenty handsome, thank you.”

The stranger smiles, widely and cheekily, an impish sort of cunning hidden in the shadow of his eyes. “Well, at least you’re interesting. I can see why he stayed.”

“Thanks?”

The stranger hums as he draws nearer, inspecting Jaemin’s clothes with curiosity. “You should be thankful, after all it is my merciful nature that created this miracle.”

“Meaning?”

The stranger standing still, chest puffing out in pride. “I am the reason you are alive. I pleaded with the God of Death on the River God’s behalf to reincarnate a human. It’s never been done before but what can I say, I’ve always had a soft spot for him.”

God of Mercy?Jaemin thinks. Sifting through his memories for any stories told by Halmeoni about it. Recalling one of the God of the Sun, Haechan who retreats into the bed of the earth to lie with his lover, the God of Death, Minhyung for half a year before retreating back to the surface to reside over mankind in the summer.

“Haechan?” Jaemin says carefully. “That is, you right?”

The god smiles brightly. A stray ray of light beaming at Jaemin at full-force. He looks away. “It’s wonderful to meet you in person, Jaemin. Have you broken your curse?”

“I’ve been cursed?”

“Yes, my Minhyung has placed a curse on you. A trial to see if your love is true. Dramatic, I know but he remains skeptical about this whole affair. Personally, you’ve both proven it to me but he’s a hard nut to crack,” Haechan says with a sigh. “You’re going to have to convince him but I have my favorites. I too, am a god, after all. A merciful one at that.”

“What curse did he put on me?” Jaemin asks, rubbing the scar on his wrist. Panic settling in his stomach.

“He made you forget him.”

“Who?”

“The man who is always followed by a cloud. That god. The one who loved you so much he paid a hefty price to reincarnate you.”

Jaemin swallows thickly. His mind straining to recall the man a god has made him forget. “What price? What price did he pay?”

“He placed half his soul inside you so that Minhyung would be forced to reincarnate you.” Haechan stops his pacing as he stands in front of him, a finger pointed at his wrist. “You would do well to heed my next words well.”

Jaemin straightens, crushing the burnt off cigarette under the heel of his shoes.

Haechan smiles dangerously. “You’ve passed the first test already, Jaemin. You spoke his true name but now you must remember it even after Minhyung has made you forget.”

In a swift motion, the god grabs Jaemin’s wrist and pulls. The place where the god’s hand meets his scar burns. Jaemin hisses in pain but Haechan’s grip is made of iron. He inspects his arm carefully including the bracelet he wrought out of gold. “I see you’ve taken good care of it, his heart.”

The pearl shines, a blue sheen cascading around it like a halo of fireflies.

“If you wish to learn the truth, take this blue pearl, the heart of the river, and swallow it. If you survive the history of your past, then speak his name.”

“What if I can’t remember him?” Jaemin asks. Fear in in his tone. “What if I can’t remember his name?”

Haechan smiles mockingly as he plucks a single feather from his head piece and wishes it to a large size. Climbing atop it.

“If you want to be with him, call out the name that speaks from your heart and he shall heed your call. If you cannot, then he is lost to you forever.”

The sun disappears behind a cloud but still, Jaemin does not feel its warmth.

☂

It rains that night.

Thunder and lightning fighting for dominance in the sky above.

Jaemin cracks open his sixth can of beer from his mini-fridge. Gulping it down as he stares blankly at the bracelet on his wrist. Trying to decide if the visit from a god was real or a figment of his own imagination.

The blue effervescent sheen of the pearl, calling out to him.

Carefully, Jaemin extracts the pearl from the bracelet and places it on his lips. “Here goes nothing,” he whispers as he swallows it.

☂

Jaemin feels the cold rushing of water whipping against his body and yet he feels at peace. As if time had all but stopped and remained a figment of his memory. Opening his eyes, he finds himself in a forest. His clothes wet from the untimely dip in the water. The cicadas chirping in the background as birds sing loftily up in their perches. Facing forward, Jaemin sees a trail of white rocks leading upwards. A destination, he is unfamiliar with but something calls out to him. Of what, he does not know but feels compelled to find out.

He steps atop them, carefully navigating his way upstream until he is faced with a beautiful lake filled with beautiful water lilies. The one he recalls from half-remembered dreams. In the middle lies a man clad in a beautiful kimono, his face gazing steadily at the sky.

To the side, Jaemin sees a boat and climbs atop it. Paddling with his hands to reach the center. The rain slowly starting to fall on to the water. Ripples echoing like a symphony to his ears. His heartbeat drumming to the sound of rain slapping against his skin until, he’s drenched in it again. This close, he sees him.

A god, with skin as white as bone and skin as cold as death. Jaemin gazes upon him and reaches out a trembling hand to caress his hand. Immediately, a well of emotions rush forth to the surface. Like a broken dam, Jaemin finally sees his first life.

A boy with a sun-kissed tan swims in the lake of a young river god, youth in their features as they skip beautiful stones across a lake’s surface. The ripples ageing them both until they are both men, one mortal, the other godly as they sink beneath the surface of the water to enter a small shrine hidden underneath a body of water. Moving closer, anticipation bubbling against his skin as they share kisses away from the prying eyes of meddlesome gods.

The water ripples again and he sees them both in a cave, now men as the river god offers his shoes, beautiful and wrought with the hair of a dying star as a gift to his lover. The man, smiling as he wears them proudly on wounded, calloused feet, before offering his own gift. A kimono made with as much love and care as he could that would befit a young god.

 Ripple.

 The young man is running away from his burning village to find solace at the river god’s side. A group of bandits having heard of the town’s bountiful harvest in a time of drought. The man shouting for help as he crosses the river to the other side. The river god standing watch over him and killing the bandits save one, whose arrow pierces the man’s heart. Rending through flesh, muscle and bone. He hears it, a river god’s anguished cry as he is pulled deep into the waters again. Now, unsafe and cold before washing up against the soft riverbed he knows. The scent of irises thick against his nose. “Do not be sad, my love,” his mouth says. The bubble of blood pouring out of his mouth in a small river. “I was happy to have spent my first and last life with you.”

The river god’s tears fall steadily like pearls. Anguish in his eyes. “We shall be together again, I promise. Even if it means I must wait a thousand years, I will.”

He is cradled carefully in the river god’s arms, the rain no longer merciless but soft against his skin. Warm, and comforting for a body slowly going rigid with death.

Jaemin opens his eyes with a gasp, realizing the god floating in the river bed is the man he’s been dreaming of for months. Thin, close to death. With a burst of strength, he pulls his body into the boat, holding him in his embrace. Carefully Jaemin cradles the god’s face in his hands, just as he remembers doing for years and years.

The river god slumbers, body frozen in time. Jaemin closes his eyes and sifts through the memories of a body, reborn. Moving backwards, as the time he has frozen rewinds to that fateful day he met him for the first time. The rain falling hard against the earth, the chimes singing loudly against the harsh wind, a clap of thunder, lightning ripping through the sky, a smile that reminded him of the moon, fingers linked together.

Speak his name,the wind howls. Call out to him the name by which he has answered and waited to be called for hundreds of years.

He remembers.

☂

Jaemin wakes up to the sound of his head pounding, his body aching with shame and regret and loneliness all welling up to the surface. Tears leaking through his eyes, horrified at having broken his promise to his river god. With an anguished cry, he calls out his name for the first time in a year.

“JENO, I’M SORRY. JENO, I’M SO SO SORRY. I’M SORRY I FORGOT. I’M SORRY I BROKE MY PROMISE. I’M SORRY I MOVED AWAY. PLEASE COME BACK.”

The storm rages outside and still Jaemin calls out to him. Calls out to his lost lover. Praying for a miracle. “Please come home to me,” Jaemin whimpers in the safety of his bedsheets. Nausea rippling through his body. His very soul calling out for its other half.

The windows burst open, the wind carrying his homework away, rain entering his dorm room as thunder and lightning continue its deadly dance above dark clouds.

Jaemin feels two warm hands lift his face up.

“You’ve been drinking too much, again.” Jeno chides. A warm smile in his face, the scent of petrichor filling his room.

“Jeno,” Jaemin whispers brokenly.

“Jaemin,” Jeno whispers back. Carefully, the god lifts Jaemin up from his prostate pose on the floor to stand. Cradling him in his embrace. His clothes, seeping in excess water from Jeno’s dripping form.

“I’m home,” Jeno whispers against the shell of Jaemin’s ear. Reverent. Soft. Unlike, before.

“Welcome home,” Jaemin replies back.

Relieved, as two halves are finally made whole.

☂

Jeno stays with him.

He stays with him for a long time. Cuddling with him under his thick comforter and sharing with each other the stories they have left untold. Every night, Jaemin asks Jeno if he needs to return to his river. Every night Jeno refuses. A smile so wide and beautiful it encompassed the night sky. Jaemin is human after all, selfish, he does not push any further.

He finds that though Jeno may be parted from the bath house, he still enjoys long, steaming hot baths. Jaemin prepares them for him of course. It isn’t luxurious by any means but Jeno does not complain. Only pulls him into the tub with him. The water overflowing and the sound of giggles and shouts of surprise echoing in the small bathroom. With their knees knocking against each other, Jaemin leans in for a kiss the god reciprocates. Slow and rhythmic, like seaweed swaying in a sand bed.

The water turns cold but his body burns.

Some days when Jaemin returns from school, he’ll find Jeno sitting next to the balcony watching the rain fall slightly despite the sunny weather. In awe, at how the sun fans against his body, squealing in delight at the dust motes floating around the room. Jaemin likes to think Jeno’s laughter is a gift from the sun god. He leaves an offering and a prayer every day at his temple on his way to university. His classmates call him a devotee, but he finds he has nothing but thanks to give for someone who has blessed him with a second life. When Jeno turns to look back at him, he smiles all the way to his ears. A fond look on his face.

“Welcome home, Nana.”

“I’m home.”

They’re in bed together, legs tangled, covered in sweat as Jeno settles his ear against Jaemin’s chest. Tapping out the rhythm of his heart with a delicate finger.

“Don’t you ever get tired of listening to my heart? It’s only ever going to pump out blood, you know.”

Jeno smiles at this but continues to tap out the Morse code of his heart. “It’s comforting to know that you are alive and that Haechan kept his promise. I’m glad that I’m here for what little time we have left together.”

“What, I can’t be reincarnated a third time?” Jaemin jokes half-heartedly. The laughter dies in his throat when he sees Jeno’s forlorn expression. “I’m guessing this is it, huh?”

Jeno continues to listen, tracing lazy infinity symbols on the bare skin covering the hill-tops of his protruding ribs. Jaemin pushes him off, caging him in between his arms, a defiant expression in his face. “If this is my last life, then I’m glad to have spent it with you, Jeno.”

When Jeno reaches upwards to wrap his arms around Jaemin’s neck, he doesn’t resist. Losing himself in the feeling of a warm mouth that tasted like the omelet he made for both of them today. His touch feels like velvet and the moving cadence of their bodies chasing pleasure consumes every stray thought of his mortality. His only goal is to make time stretch longer, farther, until the hours blend into minutes and each second is an infinity in the liquid poetry between their bodies. The rain falling down from the heavens, slowly, in a long freefall against the earth.

☂

Jaemin’s pushing the keys and turning the knob to the door when he hears the sound of retching inside. Hurriedly he twists the lock and enters the apartment. Leaving the groceries on the table and looking for Jeno.

He finds him in the bathtub, covered in dark water, pale as death. A polluted smell coming from the bath. “I’m s-sorry,” Jeno apologizes before heaving again to vomit more black blood and bits of plastic. “I don’t feel very well.”

Jaemin kneels down and lifts him up from the bath to settle him down on the floor. He pulls the plug to drain the water and sprays Jeno clean with the showerhead. Washing the god’s body quickly to rid him of any waste. Jeno barely makes it to the toilet before he hurls out more polluted water.

“I’m thirsty,” Jeno says for the first time. His skin, clammy and lined with sweat. “I’ve never been thirsty my whole life and it isn’t even in the good way.”

Jaemin is silent as he heads to the ref and gives Jeno a bottle of mineral water. Hands shaking from the stress. “Drink this.”

Jeno obeys and finishes the water quickly enough. Jaemin assisting him to lie down on their bed. “What happened?” Jaemin asks.

“I’m not meant to stay in cities, Nana. The water here is no longer pure.”

“Perhaps you should go back to the mountain? I’ll meet you there in a few hours. I borrowed my mom’s car when I went out for errands today.”

Jeno merely shakes his head and holds out his hand for Jaemin to hold. He grips tightly, afraid of the next words to leave Jeno’s mouth. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I’m too weak, now. I’ve nearly used up the last of my power, Nana.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just feeling a little under the weather—” Jaemin retorts, disbelief coating his voice. It can’t be true. This couldn’t be happening.

“I’m dying, Nana.” The god whispers quietly between them. Faint but no less damning.

“I’ve been dying for a long time,” Jeno admits. “Since before I met you. Gods do not last long without people who worship them. Soon I too, will be forgotten.”

Jaemin cups his face in between the palms of his shaking hands. Terror clawing in his chest. “But, everyone in the mountain believes in you. In the bath house. The village—”

“You forget, Nana I made a bargain with a fellow god.”

“You can’t die,” Jaemin exclaims. Tears welling in his eyes. “You can’t leave me so soon, Jeno. We were just reunited. You can’t. You can’t. You were going to watch me graduate. We were going to grow old together.”

“I wanted that with you more than anything.”

Jeno leans over to vomit another time into the bowl. The sound is horrible. The water, black and murky. Bits and pieces of trash floating in the toilet bowl. He hurls over and over with Jaemin unable to do anything but stay by his side. Eventually it recedes, the god having passed out from exhaustion. Here, Jaemin does what he knows how to do. He takes care of him. Bathing him and cleaning the dirt from his body before wrapping him in his sweatpants and hoodie to keep him warm.

He keeps watch over him, passing him bottles of clean water for Jeno to ingest only for the god to vomit it hours later. Each time the water is thicker, dark with blood and the dirt of humanity’s excess.

He’s exhausted and lost, and he says as much. Jeno smiling to him sadly as he brushes the stray hair sticking on his fringe. “I’m sorry, you must see me like this but I wanted to spend my last days with you. I wished it so. It is not a bad way to die, in the arms of a love I have waited so long for.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Jaemin whispers, gripping tightly against Jeno’s hand. Thin and frail. Jeno pushes up to kiss his cheek, brushing a stray tar with his thumb. “Everyone dies, my love. Even gods.”

He weeps.

In the middle of the night, Jaemin lights up the whole box of incense and calls out to the sun god. Desperate for any sort of guidance. Waiting in silence, with the sound of heavy rain pouring in the background and the steady rise and fall of Jeno’s labored breathing echoing in the silence.

The sun god materializes from the smoke. Twisting and turning until the hem of his clothes, and the expanse of bare flesh appears. A frown on his face.

 “You called?” Haechan says, annoyance in his tone. “You do know, I hate to be woken up from my slumber? What is it now, mortal?”

“Jeno is sick.” Jaemin says frantically, twisting and wringing his sleepshirt in his hands. “He tells me he’s dying.”

The sun god, frowns before striding quickly to Jeno’s bedside. Placing a tattooed hand on his forehead. “It’s true. He’s fading away,” Haechan whispers into the night. Jaemin can’t hold back the sob in his throat nor the tears streaming down his face. Carefully he kneels in front of the deity, grasping the edge of his hem in supplication. Begging for mercy.

“Is there any way I can save him?”

“My powers are weak in the night, for they rest in the heat of the sun.” Haechan paces around the room, before kneeling. A serious expression in his face. “Go back to his river, and wait for me there. If he survives the night and reaches the sunrise, I will be able to bring him back from death’s embrace.”

The god kisses Jeno’s forehead and a sliver of magic dances in the air. Banishing the shadow of death away. “This will keep him warm and stop him from vomiting for a short while.”

Haechan pulls him upright, a kind look on his handsome face. “Do not linger here, my power does not carry into the night but if you hurry now, you might have a chance to save him.”

“Thank you,” Jaemin whispers reverently before moving to carry Jeno’s limp body comforter and all downstairs and into the passenger seat of his parent’s car. The river god does not stir, his head falling to the side of the window fast asleep. The sun god’s magic working. Jaemin starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot so fast, he’s sure he’s going to get fined but that’s a small thing compared to his current situation.

The storm rages on, rain falling hard against the hood of the car, windshield wipers moving steadily to sweep the rainwater to the side. Thunder echoing loudly in the heavens above but still Jaemin soldiers on past the city gates and into the mountain road. Jeno is asleep but moaning in agony. Jaemin threads his free hand in his slim fingers. Soothing him with the knowledge that he is not alone.

“Jaemin,” Jeno says quietly enough that Jaemin has to strain his ears to catch his voice.

“Sleep, Jeno, you’ll be healthy again soon.”

Jaemin drives all night.

He parks the car as near to the river’s entrance as he can, the skies still dark with the curtain of the night sky. Hastily, he carries Jeno on his back as he runs through thick foliage. His sneakers squelching against the heavy rain and the crunch of broken twigs crushed underneath the soles of his shoes. Weakly, Jeno squeezes against his back. Jaemin hoisting him up even more. Grip tight, as he runs and runs.

He’s at the edge of the river when Jeno falls backwards, slipping from his grasp. The god falling against the ground with a hard thump. “Jeno!” Jaemin shouts as he moves back to cradle his lover in his arms.

Jeno coughs, a gurgle of black blood escaping his lips. His body, thin, his eyes unfocused. “Jaemin, are you there? Don’t leave me alone.”

“I’m here, Jeno, I’m here. We’re almost there, we’re almost at your river, hold on.”

With a last great burst of energy, Jaemin pulls Jeno into the river with him. The water freezing against his skin as he holds the god securely in his arms. “We’re here, love. We’re here. The sunrise is almost here, we just need to wait.”

Jeno rests his head in the space between Jaemin’s long neck and shoulder. Still coughing out specks of black blood and tainted water. He’s shivering, the tremors more pronounced than before. It’s taking everything in him, not to cry, to be strong for them both as he sets his gaze on the horizon.

“I’m not going to see the dawn,” Jeno says quietly. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“You have to hold on, Jeno. It’s here, Haechan’s miracle is almost here. We can make it. We’re already here, you can hold on, it’s only a few more minutes longer—”

The river god silences him with a kiss, soft, chaste but tender. So tender that the feeling of sadness, Jaemin’s been harboring inside him since yesterday morning is bursting out of him. Like a broken dam, like a shattered dream. “There is no need to be sad, Nana. I have lived a long life, it is time for me to rest.”

Jaemin pulls him closer to his chest, embracing him with all his might. “Take me with you, I don’t want to be alone without you. I can’t bear it.”

He feels the god shake his head, he weeps even harder. Despair seeping into his bones like a silent knife, set to shatter bone and marrow with one swift strike. “I’m sorry for being such an idiot. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I should have never called your name. If I did, you this woulnd’t have happened. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry, Jeno.”

“I was dying anyways, for I have defied the will of the heavens too many times.”

“You shouldn’t have. Who am I for you to do that? I’m nothing. I’m no one—”

Jaemin feels Jeno wipe his tears in his hands. Black pearls falling from the corners of his eyes. “That’s not true. You were my miracle, Na Jaemin. My other half. My answered prayer that made the last years and days of my life fruitful. Thank you, for filling it with happiness. Thank you for sharing your soul with me, for letting me care for it, despite knowing better.”

Jeno’s body heaves again, coughing and coughing until his body is all but spent. Jaemin can do nothing but rub against his back and stand watch. Falling against his arms, Jeno curls inwards, seeking warmth. Jaemin gives it to him. His skin against his skin, body temperature running hot.

He’s breathing heavily now, eyes half-lidded. Exhausted, but still, kind. Always kind, his Jeno. “Tell me a story,” Jeno asks. A final request.

“I’ve never been very good at telling stories, you know that.”

Jeno laughs, breathless before he coughs again violently. “Sing me a song then, one that you know. Sing me to sleep, Na Jaemin so that I may go quietly before the dawn.”

Carefully, Jaemin settles his lover in his arms. Caressing his face gently. Committing it to his memory. Jaemin’s never been good at remember things but this, he knows will remain imprinted in his mind forever. He swears upon it. He starts his song slowly, gently, his voice has always been low and rough and not very good at singing but he tries anyway. The one, he knows Jeno taught his grandmother and passed onto him. The one he sings him to sleep night after night as a child, and he did not know any better. Bereft of the knowledge that the god who visited him in the rain shared the very same soul that resides in his body. A connection born of sacrifice, of love.

“Here we meet and here we part. A bitter taste of hope lingers for I am in love with you and there is nothing to be done.”

With each steady raindrop that falls unto Jeno’s cheeks, the light starts to leave his eyes. Jaemin knows, he watches it unfold.  A silent onlooker to the passing of a forgotten god. In his arms, Jeno’s body does not grow rigid. Instead it lightens. His skin translucent until he fades away into smoke, the wind carrying him away into the heavens. The thunder roars. The lightning cuts angrily across the sky in wild flashes. The wind howls against the mountain and the forest is silent in grief, in sorrow.

In a place that has once given him shelter and shielded him from harm, Jaemin finds himself alone, holding onto a kimono that is slowly turning into dust. The ash, slipping through his fingers to join the water rushing past him.

Alone, in the deathbed of a river god.

☂

The A-me bath house mourns with him.

The workers setting aside final offerings at the river god’s shrine. The scent of incense thick as words of prayer are written down into consecrated paper. Later, upon the monk’s instructions each of them will fold it into the shape of a boat carrying a red camellia, before setting it free to roam down the river. That their gratitude would reach the river of the Earth below, where death lives.

Jaemin wears a plain, black kimono. No umbrella in sight. He feels he does not deserve it. Not after what he has done.

Foolish, foolish boy,he repeats to himself over and over that night in the emptiness of his bedroom. Halmeoni and Harabeoji both wishing him good night as they slide the door shut. Jaemin shouts, angrily as he rips his clothing apart and upending the bookcases in his room. Kicking the bowl of go stones in the whirlwind of his immeasurable grief.

Kneeling he prostrates himself to the ground and weeps.

Calling out the name of a god that can no longer heed his call.

In the morning he wakes to the feeling of a warm hand, caressing his cheek.

Eagerly he fights the last remnants of sleep that threaten to sew his eyes shut. Blinking slowly, he sees a man clad in a red kimono.

“Jeno?” he murmurs, hope in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Jaemin. I am not him,” the voice replies. It’s different. Higher-pitched and nasal. It is not his lover, he realizes. The figure that kneels next to him is none other than the sun god. A god of mercy and good harvest. Haechan.

“Have mercy on me,” Jaemin begs. His heart breaking into tiny, splintered pieces again. Hope grounded into fine dust. “Take me out of my misery.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. It would go against Jeno’s final miracle for you.”

“Miracle,” Jaemin asks. “Is he going to return to me?”

Haechan shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. “The miracle is that you will live a long and fruitful life, Na Jaemin, filled with happiness and success and a good marriage bearing many children. He has made it so you will want for nothing and a peaceful exit from this life, once you are old.”

“I never wanted that.” Jaemin replies. His heart ripping itself into shreds at the mere fact that even in his death throes, Jeno had made sure to leave a final blessing in place. “I only ever wanted to be by his side. That we would grow old together.” That he would not be alone so long as he was alive.

“I’m sorry I could not make the sun rise sooner,” the sun god apologizes. The wind chimes slowly, a melody of sorrow echoing in the wind.

They are silent for a long while. Jaemin, lying sideways in his bed. Eyes, red and swollen from grief. Haechan fiddling with the go board in front of him. Setting the stones back to their proper order.

“Is there any way you can bring him back?” Jaemin asks the god. Desperation in his voice.

Haechan is silent, contemplative. Weighing his words against the grief of an entire household and half of a soul. “There is a way but the price will be heavy.”

Jaemin sits up slowly, turning to face him. “Name your price.”

“Time.” The sun god says seriously. “I will steal your time. The time that Jeno has ensured that you would find happiness in a newfound love and the family you would have had. Time that you must never seek out the solace of another body as you wait for his return.”

“When would he return?” Jaemin asks him.

“I cannot say,” the god replies with a shake of his head. The bells in his hair tingling at the movement. “All I can promise you is that you will meet again and when you do you shall be together for as long as you both shall live. This I promise. Would you be willing to wait years for a small chance of a meeting?” Are you willing to sacrifice a chance for another life for this?

“Jeno waited centuries to meet me, I can do the same with what little years I have left.”

The sun god rises and holds out his hand, sun markings and clouds lined in gold glittering in his palms. A miracle at work. A bargain. “Then take my hand and swear upon it, Na Jaemin and seal your fate.”

He takes it.

☂

Many years have passed.

Some days, time runs quickly. On other days, the sands of time drift slowly downwards in an eternal hourglass. Jaemin’s lived a long life. He graduated top of his class in textiles before undergoing several apprenticeships under many great masters of textiles and clothing design. Weaving story after story in the hems and bodice of his clothing that the general public has taken notice.

Currently, the art community is celebrating his inauguration as a national artist and treasure for textiles. He’s done his best to change the world. He’s fought long and hard for better ways to preserve tradition and the sustainability of the environment. Donating millions of dollars to the rehabilitation of the country’s rivers and ecosystem. He is but one man against a wall of problems, but he hopes that by doing so, he would have saved other spirits of nature, other small gods who have no one to remember them anymore.

In light of this special event, Jaemin’s invited the attendees to stay the night at his family’s bath house. Holding the exhibition free for everyone to see. The bath house has been flocked the whole day as students, connoisseurs and critics come to bear witness to the story of his heart. The clothes that he has woven to preserve the memory of a youth now gone.

“Tell us about your exhibition?” a journalist asks him later that night. “Your publicist says that these pieces are not for sale and would be interred in the national museum? I couldn’t help but see a story hidden between each piece. Would you care to share it?”

Jaemin smiles, the kind that he’s practiced all his life, growing up in this ancient house and practicing his craft. The kind that sets people at ease as he welcomes them into his home and offers them a brief respite from the world. A little piece of magic. A small haven for peace. “Tears of the Water God is an exhibition preserving the history and techniques of Sonagi Town and my family. If you can see, there is a story in each of the kimono pieces that originated from old folktales passed down only through words here. I hope to keep them alive for more generations to enjoy and appreciate through my craft.”

“Is there a particular creation you are proud of the most?” the journalist asks.

Immediately, Jaemin thinks of the kimono in the middle, encased in glass. A recreation of the gift he had once offered to a river god. Dyed in the color of water, the waves of a river dotted with colorful flowers and water lilies floating on its surface. Above it, nearing the collar of the kimono are stylized clouds with rain falling down upon two figures sitting in a boat, a red umbrella over them, shielding them from the rain. His family’s bath house in the distance, shrouded in wispy tendrils of smoke.

“Mr. Na?” the journalist prompts.

Carefully, Jaemin smiles leaning closer as he weaves the words he knows by heart. “My dear, Mr. Park, have you ever heard the tale of ‘A boy and the river god?’”

It is early in the evening when the dark clouds hovering in the sky since morning has decided to allow rain to fall down on the earth below. The sound of each raindrop hitting the terracotta tiles above, lends ambience to the soft piano music echoing in the main exhibition hall.

Jaemin excuses himself from the festivities, wandering the empty halls of his family bath house. A great sense of nostalgia filling him. Of a youth filled with laughter and the sound of padded feet hitting the wooden flooring below trying to hide from his grandmother.

He is thirty-nine now. Wrinkles have started to form in the corners of his lips. His hands and wrists now dyed in a deep, permanent shade of blue. Still he is alone, unmarried but content. Faithful to his promise.

Oddly enough, he finds himself looking for an empty space he can smoke in piece, a terrible habit he’s developed back in college. A left here, a right there. Down the stairs and to the edge he slides the door open to find a stranger lingering by the gardens outside. A slump in his shoulders as he stares at the gigantic sign announcing his exhibit to the whole town. The boy lets out an anguished cry as he kicks the sign down and crouches near the hydrangeas.

Jaemin feels pity for him. His heart breaking at the sight.  “Hello there! Can I help you?” he calls out to the stranger.

“No! No, you can’t! I’ve had the worst day ever, and all I wanted was to go to the A-me Bath house and have a really nice soak and eat tteokbokki and drink green tea and forget about this horrible day but no, there has to be a stupid exhibition and I can’t even do the one thing that makes me happy. So, no. You can’t help me, just leave me alone here and pretend you didn’t see a grown ass teenager crying.” The boy shouts, from his place in the garden. 

“I’m pretty sure I can help you, I’m the owner of this bath house and I’m quite sure I can open up the public baths for you.”

“My mom told me not to believe kind, handsome strangers and besides, the manager says the owner of the bath house is barely even here.”

“Well, the owner of the bath house is here and he’s talking to you.”

Carefully, Jaemin takes an umbrella from the rack and steps outside into the rain. Walking carefully to the high school student. Extending his arm to shield him from the deluge. A small, practiced smile in place. Warm, and welcoming.

The student looks up and Jaemin can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips.

It’s him.

It’s a boy with a handsome face and a strong nose and a river god’s sad smile framed in the thickest glasses he’s seen wearing retainers on his teeth. Hair long, a sopping wet fringe hiding the rest of his forehead in a waterfall. His school clothes and bag soaked from the rain. “Oh my god, you really are the owner. I know your picture. It’s on the sign I just kicked. I’m sorry by the way.”

“I did try to tell you,” Jaemin replies, amusement in his voice. “I’m sure idiots don’t catch colds but I’m quite certain beautiful people do, and I’d hate for that to happen to you, hm?”

 “Should you be offering strangers respite underneath your umbrella? They’ll think we’re lovers or something. It’s the perfect setup for a sordid, steamy romance. Not that I’m implying anything—” The boy with Jeno’s face stammers out. Cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Jaemin shrugs. A teasing smirk on his face. “Let them think what they want, but it is cold out here in the rain, why don’t you come inside? I’ll draw you a bath and cook you a meal and you can tell me about your day.”

“You don’t even know my name,” the boy stammers, glasses fogging up with how close the two of them were to each other. Jaemin’s heart beats frantically in his chest, the warm rays of happiness chasing away the cold seeping into his bones. “All strangers start the same, Jeno.”

The boy stands up straight, jaw slack. “How did you know— obviously my school nametag. Lee Jeno, yeah that’s me. I don’t even know your name.”

“Call out the name that speaks from your heart and I shall answer to it all the days of your life,” Jaemin recites from the vestiges of a far off, but not forgotten memory. The rain begins to fall harder against the umbrella, the chimes’ melody fast as the storm begins to set in earnest.

“Aren’t you a smooth old man,” the boy, Jeno, replies disbelievingly.

Jaemin laughs, brightly, exuberantly like has never done so in years. “Humor me.”

Despite the dubious expression on his face, Jeno closes his eyes. The rain pours down mercilessly against them. The hems of his kimono are drenched. It’s freezing but underneath this umbrella, the silence, the anticipation burns. Jeno opens his eyes, they are still as deep as he remembers. Still as warm and full of wonder. The sadness lingering in the corner of his eyes slowly disappearing.

“Jaemin,”he breathes out. Eyes glassy. Like a promise. Like a long-lost lover. The other half that makes a whole.

Above them lightning streaks across the sky. The thunder claps overhead. The wind howls. The rain pours but it matters not.

For underneath this red umbrella, two lovers are reunited at long last.

A faint clap of thunder,

Even if rain comes or not,

I will stay here,

Together with you.

—Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,514